Something New
by SineTimore
Summary: Castle hasn't shared this particular talent with many, but Beckett learns of it when she arrives at his loft for movie night, their first date. *now complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Borrowed with love and appreciation, always.

**AN: **First, to the readers, I thank each and every one of you for your time and your kind words of acknowledgment. I mean that more than you know. Second, to the writers, you inspire and astound me with your dedication, diligence, and passion; may your words always bring you as much joy as they bring me. Life has kept me from reading your work for far too many months, but I look most forward to getting caught up. Finally, I often know not why I write the things I do. I know only that my brain tells me I must write them, hence this story.

* * *

_**Something New**_

Given the state their relationship had been in over the past several weeks, it seemed inconceivable to him – surreal even - that this could even be happening.

They were magical words, _Actually, I'd love to_, and they frolicked in the recesses of Castle's mind for the rest of the day, Kate's honeyed voice just as clear in his ears hours later as when she'd first uttered them that morning. He floated through the afternoon in an excitement-induced trance, evidenced in part by an absurd and messy collision with the bullpen's Murder Board, right in front of Gates no less, and then later by his volunteering to go to the break room for the express purpose of fetching coffees, and then returning moments later empty handed. More than once Kate observed him, seemingly a world away, and she called him on it, but he dismissed her each time - lack of sleep, boredom, headache, any number of lame excuses unworthy of his famed and well-touted author's imagination. The truth was, though, he couldn't have felt better, more awake or more exhilarated. He'd spent the entire day with her mentally pinching himself, assuming his invitation and her acceptance were a dream and that he'd wake at any moment. He'd wanted this for so long, time with her, alone - time outside of the confines a case or the NYPD, time without walls or world intrusion. Too much damn time had slipped by already, and he hoped that one small step forward - maybe even tonight's movie night - was all they'd need to see that, to embrace that, and to finally decide to dive into it, together.

Come late afternoon, thanks to Captain Gates, a backlog of case paperwork surfaced and demanded Kate's immediate attention. Grateful for the gift of the extra preparation time, though offering Kate consolation that it came at her expense, Castle left her to it, gladly as always, to her complete _lack_ of surprise. The rules of proper host etiquette necessitated stops at the market, at the florist, and at his favorite wine shop before heading back to the loft. Because the day was cool and clear, and because his mind was admittedly still something of a blur, he opted to walk most of the way; the exercise and fresh air worth a shot, he reasoned, a theoretical vent for all of the wild energy coursing through him. But it only seemed to increase with each step he took - the buildup of anticipation, the whirl of nerves within. Frustratingly, his body was just as energized when he arrived home as it was when he left her at the precinct. He couldn't even find it within himself to remain still in the elevator on the way up to his floor; instead, he paced back and forth like some kind of mad man in a box. If this was his state _now_, he wondered, what the hell would he be like when Kate actually showed up?

* * *

Evening settled in and the loft wore the serenity of the darkened city like a glove. The lights around him were set to dim, the fire burning in the fireplace their perfect complement, despite how truly impractical it was given the time of year. Castle flitted about the place, fluffing pillows, straightening furniture, moving objects of no real consequence from this table to that shelf and back again – as though any of it might actually contribute to the success or failure of the evening; Kate had, after all, been to the loft before, seen it all before. His palms were damp with perspiration and his heart thumped feverishly in his chest as he traveled from room to room, pausing in each to run a mental checklist on its worthiness of Kate Beckett's impending proximity. He recognized that he was being foolish, that she wouldn't care about the angles of his chairs or how the books rested on his coffee table, but his brain wasn't in charge anymore, his heart was, and it wanted everything to be perfect. Kate deserved perfect.

A short time later, with a final sweep of the loft complete, with nothing more to find that he could adjust, alter or improve, Castle checked his phone for messages, but found none at all. He certainly should have heard from Kate by now, he thought, so he dialed her cell number to check in, not so much concerned as anxious.

"_Beckett_," she snapped, interrupting her phone's second ring.

Immediately, his heart sank. He knew that voice. Something was about to ruin their night before it even began.

"Hey, it's me. Is…is everything okay?" He braced himself for the impending bad news.

"Oh, hey, Castle," her voice softened, once she knew it was him. "Sorry, yeah, I'm just ready to get the hell out of here. Gates is hovering and, quite frankly, I'd like to throw all of this damn paperwork at her and tell her where she can file it."

"Oh, don't you dare, Detective, not without me there and my camera ready," he teased. "So, uh, you have somewhere else you'd rather be tonight then, do you?" he asked playfully.

She didn't miss a beat, years of Richard Castle banter experience under her belt. "You know me, Castle. Just my usual Friday night – hair in curlers and a knitting needle in each hand. Pure heaven."

"Hard to compete with that level of bliss," he sighed. "But, if you change your mind, I did buy wine this afternoon, and I'm very rich so it's _good_ wine. I also have popcorn, assorted sugary snacks, and take-out menus. The latter is what usually sways the ladies, in case you were wondering."

"Nothing like a sexy man with a _fine_ take-out menu collection," she quipped, thoroughly enjoying the distraction he was providing. "Isn't that what they always say?"

"If they do, they are absolutely correct. I believe it's a scientific fact."

Wait.

_What did she just say?_

"I'm sorry. Did you just…you…did you just imply that I'm se-"

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Castle," she interrupted wickedly. "Don't open the wine and don't even think about touching your take-out menus without me." She did her best to mask her girlish grin, ending the call without allowing him a reply, but that was a true exercise in futility.

Castle set his phone down on the kitchen counter and he could feel it, the smile that trickled all the way up to his eyes as a wave of heat rushed quickly over him.

As soon as she could.

Cold shower. He definitely needed a cold shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Castle managed to shower in just four minutes, a wildly unnecessary sprint to a finish line that culminated in no discernible reward. They'd - well, she'd, really - _just_ ended their phone conversation, after all, and Kate was still planted at her desk the 12th, stuck in a Gates-imposed mire of bureaucratic formality; no way she'd be arriving any time soon. He stood before the racks and shelves of clothes in his closet, errant drops of water in lazy tumble down his torso, the towel wrapped around his waist their eventual captor. He had eyes for something relaxed, but not overly so; it was kind of their first date and, though he'd already known her for four years, he still longed to impress her. Settling on a pair of dark jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweater, he dressed and returned to the bathroom. With a spritz for good measure, he took one final glance in the mirror, fidgeted frenziedly with his wet hair like a teenager who'd just knocked on the door for his prom date, and repeated three words aloud over and over again - _Calm. Down. Dammit._

Eventually he drifted out of his room and back to the kitchen for his phone, which he found buzzing there with activity. _Screw it_, Kate's first text message read, and he guffawed at the tone he so clearly perceived. _Heading out & I'll be there in a bit. Need anything?_

_Nope, just you_, Castle typed without hesitation or forethought, the words coming as naturally to him as any other. But upon reading what he was about to send, he elected to backspace the text box clear. He understood how blessed he was to be in this place with her, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her away with too much, too soon. _No, thanks, just get here safely. See you soon_, he typed instead, releasing an appreciable sigh.

A writer who couldn't use the words he most wanted to. It was agonizing.

* * *

Castle wandered and paced the floors in wait, certain the anticipation of Kate's arrival was going to kill him, if his pounding heart didn't do him in first. He tried reading but couldn't focus, found himself scanning the same lines again and again. He switched on the television, but couldn't settle on one channel. He considered downing a shot of Glenlivet, but quickly dismissed that as an adolescent and foolish notion. He was entirely out of practical solutions. Apparently the universe had decided that calm wasn't to have any part in Richard Castle's foreseeable future.

But then he noticed it.

Hell, he'd walked past it at least a dozen times already, but for whatever reason, now, in this particular moment, it captured his attention.

* * *

Castle was eleven when he sat for his first piano lesson, at his mother's insistence, of course – something about carrying on her great legacy as a performer, which he found utterly ridiculous at the time. In the beginning, he had no appreciation for it; it was all punishment and no pleasure. And it was very clear to him early on that he was far from what anyone who mattered in the music world would ever consider a superstar in the making. Honestly, the only part of it he truly looked forward to was sitting next to his teacher, Amelia, on that piano bench for three hours each week. She was the niece of a family friend, a sophomore in high school, all white-blond hair, freckles, and delicate fingers. Her voice was soft and her frame slight, and when he listened to her play, he simply couldn't believe that sound originated from her. It was larger than life, and filled with more intensity than he felt he could ever express through _any_ musical instrument…let alone anything else.

Still, Castle continued to play for his mother's sake, and for the sake of his smitten heart that went pitter-patter whenever his tutor was near. Over time, though, to his great surprise, he found his admiration and affection for the instrument growing. His world wasn't a quiet one - often chaotic and uncertain, in fact, being the son of a single, working actress in New York City - but for those three hours, he felt relaxed, at peace, miles away from the din of his young life. By the end of his second year with Amelia, the piano had become his port in the storm, the place in which he sought refuge when nothing else made sense.

Amelia left New York for university in London to study music shortly thereafter and it positively crushed him. Castle knew the time was approaching, but he wasn't at all prepared, at his age, for the void her absence left in him, in his desire to play. She'd become so much a part of the experience, so integral to his enjoyment of the art; it compounded his feelings of loss exponentially. He gravitated to the piano less and less after that, and he gave up playing almost entirely after his mother sent him off to boarding school. He did think about it, from time to time, how playing made him feel, what it had given him and what he took from it. And while his passion for it sat dark in the background of his life, it wasn't something he ever thought would leave him completely.

* * *

He had this piano brought in for his mother years ago, her preoccupation with musical theater at the time the provocation for the extravagant gift's purchase. But her love affair with the medium was short-lived, her passions often fickle and fleeting, and the instrument was banished to the corner, out of meaningful sight, left there to gather framed family photos and dust, year after year.

Castle didn't play his mother's piano often, though as he stood before it now, he distinctly remembered the last time he did. It was a few weeks after he'd visited a bullet-wounded Kate in the hospital, a few weeks after she'd sent him away with the promise of a call and then disappeared without even a word. He'd tried to call her that day, _again_, but he'd heard nothing in return from her. That hurt ran deep within him and he found himself without an outlet for it. Playing the piano that day was all he could think to do to not have to think anymore, the only thing he could get lost in that might help to quiet the ache. Writing had become something of an escape for him, certainly, but writing _her_, writing Nikki Heat, in the state he was in, seemed unimaginable.

Castle hesitated at first, the memory a painful one to relive, then pulled back the piano bench and brushed off the fine layer of dust that'd gathered over time - clear evidence of his indifference to the instrument - and he sat, his hands at rest on his knees. He studied the keys for a moment or two, images of boyhood dancing across his mind, until finally he extended a finger and played a single note. The sound lingered in the otherwise silent loft and he physically felt the effect that one solitary strike had on him. He began to play, slowly and tentatively, as emotion swelled within him. Contentment washed over him in that instant, his disquietude receding like the moon pulling the tide. All of the rampant energy that had built up in him over the hours in the day, he transferred to the keys, and he felt, for a brief time at least, calm.

* * *

Kate arrived some thirty minutes later and rode up in the elevator alone, tired and frustrated from her day but with a level of excitement neither could extinguish. She stepped through the open doors and made the turn toward the loft, the building quiet, as always - the residents appreciated it that way, paid a premium for it. Halfway down the hall to Castle's door she heard it, faint at first, but more pronounced as she stepped closer. It was clear to her that it was a piano, but the song stopped and started, not at all in the way a radio station's or a cd's version would. No, far less tidy – raw even. Her curiosity grew as she stood alone in the hallway beside his door, her head in subtle lean against the wall while she listened on.

She knew that Martha and Alexis were both gone for the evening - the reason behind much of the buzz she'd felt all day - and that left Castle home alone. But, it seemed impossible. She'd known him for four years, seen him nearly every day, stayed in his home, hell, saved his life…why would he have kept something like this from her? It wasn't like Richard Castle to keep hidden _any_ of his many talents, especially from her.

Or so she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kate stood transfixed outside Castle's door, thoroughly absorbed in the resonance of the music that permeated the loft walls, when her phone vibrated suddenly in her pocket and caused her body to jerk in surprise. She attended to it quickly, with a flush of unwarranted embarrassment, as though the disturbance was somehow interfering with the performance taking place within the walls in front of her.

She answered the call from her father, the ball from their game of phone tag left earlier in his court, and swiftly whispered her promise to phone him back in the morning. He agreed, though perplexed and somewhat troubled by her muted tone and secretive dismissal; she had a dangerous job, and moments like that certainly wouldn't bring him any relief from worry. She knew she'd owe him an explanation.

She dropped the phone back into her jacket pocket, but not before taking note of the time. Wow. She'd been standing outside his door far longer than she realized.

With a deep breath, she knocked - several times, in fact - but the music inside played on without interruption. Recognizing her knuckles were no match for the energetic instrument, she pressed twice on the doorbell and silence came quickly. Her heart thumped rapidly as her anticipation built, and she waited eagerly.

"Hi," Castle said, standing opposite her in the doorway, a warm smile spread across his face. "I'm glad you're finally here. Come on in," he urged with a welcoming sweep of his arm.

"Glad I'm here, huh?" she asked with feigned suspicion, as she stepped past him into the loft. "You have a jar that needs opening or something, Castle?" she quipped, as he removed her coat in gentlemanly fashion and draped it over the nearby chair.

She glanced subtly around the expansive room. She hadn't ever told him as much, but she loved this place. She'd been awed by it at first, as many would be - a millionaire's New York City penthouse; to her it'd once seemed needlessly grand, definitively masculine, haughty – her initial reaction perhaps a reflection of her early misconceptions about his character. Yet it now felt comfortable and seductive to her, welcoming and warm - in essence, very much the Castle she'd come to know.

"Hey, Castle, I was kidding," she said, in acknowledgment of his poker-faced silence. "You okay?"

"Am I…? Uh, what?" he stammered, as if just woken from a deep sleep. "No, yeah, I'm great. Can I pour you something to drink? Some wine, maybe? It sure sounded earlier like you could use it."

He headed toward the kitchen with an enthused Kate in tow.

Castle poured each of them a glass and raised his first in toast. "To…Friday nights without knitting needles and to new beginnings." He extended his arm and she met it eagerly with a chuckle. "Shall we go sit down? Make ourselves more comfortable? We can, uh, order some food, maybe? Have you eaten? Probably a stupid question since you just left work."

He chastised himself silently for the idiotic rambling.

"Let's do that," Kate replied agreeably, managing to stifle a laugh over his obvious jitters. "I had an apple at my desk earlier, but if I'm going to continue to enjoy this wine, something with substance will definitely be required."

She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she made her way toward the couch. "Wouldn't want to drink too much and do something inappropriate, right?"

His mouth dropped open.

God, he was so fun to tease.

Instantly, his mind began to race. "Yeah, that would be just _awful_," he whispered unconvincingly, just loud enough for her to hear as he followed close behind. "I have the, uh, menus out there, if you want to take a look. I'm up for anything, so it's detective's choice tonight," he smiled, taking a seat next to her, pleased to have a mundane distraction from his current thought process.

He sipped his wine and watched as she leafed through the stack of options. He noted the crinkle of her nose when she discarded a menu of no interest and the crook of her eyebrow when she came across a possible contender.

"Aha!" he exclaimed with an almost accusatory point of his finger. "That's the one!"

She looked up at him with confusion. "What are you talking about, Castle?"

"You bit at your lower lip when you got to the Thai menu. That's most definitely a Kate Beckett tell." He sounded most pleased with himself for the observation.

"That's…I'm…I'm not even sure how to respond to that, Castle."

_Did she really do that?_ She wondered.

He grinned self-contentedly. "But it _is_ Thai that you want, right?"

"Yes," she mumbled, without giving him the satisfaction of eye contact. Damn him and how well he knew her.

Castle scribbled down what Kate wanted to eat and grabbed his phone to call in their order for delivery, and she got up and wandered as he waited on hold to speak with the restaurant. The fireplace cast a gentle glow about the room, her eyes fixated on the dancing flames as she stood before them. She flinched when his unexpected _Hey_ tickled her ear from behind; she hadn't heard him approach – more than likely his intent.

"Oh, hey, sorry," she said, trying to brush off the brief scare.

"And what exactly are _you_ sorry for, Detective? I should be the one to apologize. I didn't mean to startle you like that."

She turned her attention back to the flames. "I've always found them sort of mesmerizing, fires. They're so wild and yet we still try to contain them."

Her voice trailed off, almost melancholy.

"As we do with so many things in life," he recognized. "I wonder if we'll ever learn to give up some of the control we fight so dearly to hold on to."

All at once, the conversation felt less and less about fire.

Her focus remained absorbed in the red and orange light, her expression still and sweet. "You look nice," he told her, after a moment of quiet observation, his mouth left open as though he had something more to say.

She turned to him, appearing at first not to have heard what he'd said, but then offering a humble reply. "Well, that's kind of you, Castle, but I'm fairly certain that after an excruciatingly long day like today, I look anything _but_ nice." She ran her free hand through her loose hair as if to try and provide support for her assertion.

His hand reached out to her, a wisp of hair having tumbled loose of its position behind her ear. "First of all, nice isn't even in the ballpark of the way you look, Kate, after a long day or otherwise." He tucked the errant strand back into place. "And second of all, you didn't let me finish." His blue eyes met her green and held them - fixed, intense. "I was going to say, you look nice…in my home."

She smiled demurely, the heat of the fire no match for the sudden blush warming her cheeks.

"Boy, you really are a writer, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am," he agreed with a palpable air of pride. "But, in the interest of honesty now being our best policy - new beginnings and all – Jameson Rook would never say that to Nikki Heat."

"Oh? And why is that?" she asked, expecting a customary Richard Castle offhand response.

"Those words were written only for you, Detective."

Her glass was nearly empty and he reached for it. "More wine?" he asked matter-of-factly, as though he hadn't just buckled her knees with his words.

No. That definitely wasn't the response she expected.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Their dinner was delivered a short time later, small talk comfortably filling the moments while they waited. They set themselves up at the dining table, admittedly not as relaxed as the couch, but the lure of the roaring fire was too mighty to resist. Steaming cartons of Thai food sat open between the two, each of them sampling from one and then moving on to the next, the enjoyment reaped from their sharing unspoken but evident. They talked about everything and nothing in particular, and they ate slowly, savoring the meal and each other's company.

"So, may I ask you something?" Castle inquired into the hush of the post-meal lull, as coolly as he possibly could, though fidgeting with his now-obsolete chopsticks. The waves of light cast by the fire caressed Kate's face in spellbinding fashion. Honestly, he could barely think straight.

"Of course you _may_, Castle," she teased, with notable appreciation of his habitual attention to proper grammatical form.

He folded and unfolded the cloth napkin at rest in his lap as he prepared to pose his question, uncertain as to whether or not he should ask, yet remarkably eager at the same time. "Were you, ah…were you nervous about tonight, Kate?"

He realized as the words came out that it really was something of a cop-out to put it on her, to put her on the spot rather than just admit his own feelings, his own nervousness about what this night could mean. But he still felt it sometimes, the sting of his past exposure.

Her subsequent moment of silence felt more like a lifetime. Castle wondered and hoped and worried, Kate's expression revealing nothing to him about the response to come.

"Well, Castle," she spoke finally, her voice warm and soft, "would you like my badass-cop-who-stares-danger-in-the-face-every-day answer, or my girl-on-a-first-date-with-a-cute-boy answer?"

Castle swallowed hard, hard enough that he assumed she must've noticed. And then he did what he did best – attempted to counter his own nervousness with humor.

"Better be careful, Detective. Calling me sexy _and_ cute in one day could send my ego to heights never before realized."

Kate had come to understand his mechanisms well over the years and she tossed it right back – playful, always a zone of comfort for them.

"Such heights exist, Castle?" She reached for her cell phone nearby, and he watched her in puzzlement. "Oh, I was just thinking I should call science, you know? This is _big_ news." She pretended to dial as she peered devilishly at him through her eyelashes.

Then he heard it, watched as the words tumbled from her lips – "Yes, Castle, I was."

"Oh, thank God," he let out in a deep exhale of relief.

* * *

Kate offered to wash the dishes from dinner and they shared a hearty laugh over it; her altruism (or lack thereof) fodder for his jest as their food had been consumed almost entirely out of paper containers and with the aid of disposable chopsticks.

She stood at the kitchen sink, her back to the room, and allowed the water to run, to reach a temperature comfortable enough for her hands to work with. Castle leaned against the opposite counter and watched her, furiously scribbled down as many mental notes as he possibly could in the short time he was afforded - how the loose curls of her hair cascaded down around her shoulders, how her gentle scent swirled in the air, how she hummed as if alone, though she knew he was near.

He stepped closer, the soft sound emanating from her almost magnetic – utterly bewitching. It took but a few seconds for him to lose himself in it, lost to the point that he never heard the water stop, and when she spun around, her body nearly collided with his.

"Oh geez, Castle!" she exclaimed, grabbing his forearms for balance. "I didn't even - what the heck were you doing?"

He steadied her body and then his own, bought himself a few extra seconds to try and come up with an answer that wouldn't sound entirely creepy. But that plan backfired, with her now just inches from him - looking and smelling and sounding as she did.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you were humming and it was adorable, and with the water running, I guess I just wanted to be closer to you - to _it_! I mean to _it_! I'm sorry. And now I'm sorry for saying sorry twice. And for rambling like an idiot. Again."

_Shit_.

He closed his eyes in embarrassment, wished the last thirty seconds away. But his fluster only endeared him more to her. This part of him was new, real. And she liked it - a lot.

It struck her then that she'd actually caught herself humming earlier as well, when Castle had called in their order for dinner. What she'd heard from the hallway, seeping from the walls of the loft as she stood on the other side, had pervaded her mind and had left its mark.

"You don't need to be sorry, Castle, really," she reassured him. "I didn't even realize I was doing it - must've heard something earlier that stayed with me, you know? I'm glad you enjoyed it, though. That's very sweet."

She recognized this moment as her best opportunity and she seized it. She absolutely _had_ to know.

"So, I guess it's only fair that I get to ask you something now too, right?"

He looked at her curiously. "I suppose I can't argue with that – fair is fair. I must warn you, though. I've had three glasses of wine, so you can't be too picky about the answer. Oh, and thank you for trying to make me feel better. I don't know what the hell is going on with me tonight," he grumbled in frustration, knowing full well what the hell was going on.

"Lightweight," she wisecracked, successfully eliciting a smile. "Well, I was just curious. When I got here tonight, as I was walking down the hall to your door, I heard what sounded like someone playing a piano coming from inside, and since we're the only ones here tonight, I figured maybe that was you."

He said nothing, his smile replaced by an expression of growing uneasiness. Of course, she hadn't actually asked him a question yet.

"Was that really you, Castle?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It wasn't as though his ability to play was some kind of dirty little secret, but it felt more like a weakness to him now, a crutch, and because he was a man of considerable pride, he kept it locked up inside him. He didn't play for anyone anymore, not even those closest to him, namely his mother and his daughter, who knew well of his talent, however little he thought of it. His affection for it had all but faded, fleeting glimpses of it all that remained in the scattered moments he found himself sitting at the neglected instrument.

But he had to tell Kate the truth, wanted to, if their relationship was going to move beyond all of the past secrets, lies and omissions. _New beginnings_, that's what he'd said to her and promised to himself. And she'd already shared more of herself with him than with anyone.

He owed her this. He owed them this.

"Guess you found me out, Detective Beckett," he spoke modestly. "Ironic considering you didn't come over here tonight in a professional capacity."

"Why have you never told me about this, Castle?" she asked as she stepped closer to him, her tone dusted with disappointment. "Rick, it was- your music…it was _so_ beautiful. Why do you think I've been humming all night? You did that. Your music did that."

For all of the exasperating frustration Kate Beckett had brought into his life, she had the ability like no other, with just a look, with just a few words, to make him feel more at ease than anyone ever had before.

"I suppose _It just never came up_ wouldn't suffice, huh?"

She didn't have to utter a word, her expression teeming with discontent.

"Look, Kate, I don't really play anymore, and when I do, it's usually because I'm in a place I don't want to drag anyone else into. I only sit down at that thing because I don't have any idea what else to do, not because I want to, not because it brings me any joy. It hasn't in a very long time. And that really isn't the kind of thing one wants to share."

She felt an instant connection to his words, the image of her mother flashing across her mind - all the hours and months and years spent behind a wall built by loss, keeping much of her true self hidden, not knowing any other way. Kate knew well what it was like to have secrets, to need them.

She reached for his hand and took it in hers. "I understand, Castle," she assured him with a gentle squeeze of her fingers. "More than you probably realize." Her thumb traced delicate circles along the warm skin of his hand. "And, I know this is probably asking a lot, given what you've told me, but I'd really love to hear you play, to watch you play. Maybe one day you might consider sharing it with me?"

Hope wasn't something her eyes could ever hide – not from him. He knew her. He observed it in every fleck of color gazing back at him.

"I'm sorry, Castle. I shouldn't have pushed. Just forget I-"

"No, Kate, it's okay." He looked down and their fingers were now laced together, and while he wasn't certain when or how it had actually happened, he was soothed by the intimacy. "Your being here with me is the best reason I've had to play in a very long time and, to be honest, when you look at me like that, well, I'd probably agree to just about anything."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind, Castle. Never know when I might want something," she teased.

"So, then, would you like to come and sit with me?"

Kate nodded modestly, cloaking her fervor for his benefit, and he guided her across the room, her hand locked with his. He took a seat on the piano bench first, found a spot of comfort and then invited her to do the same. All at once she found herself torn between the inclination to grant him space and the desire to be closer to him than she'd ever been before. She appreciated the weight of the moment, understood how difficult this might be for him.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured, his fingers poised on the keys before them.

For Kate, it didn't feel like nothing. It felt like everything.

He began to play, timidly at first, the presence of an audience new again to him after so many years.

Kate's thigh brushed lightly against his, their proximity his inspiration. Castle's fingers continued their dance, her strength infusing him with a tangible balance that grew stronger with each passing note. The keys responded to him and he to them in a way he'd forgotten they could, and the music sounded different to him, the air felt lighter with her beside him.

"Rick," she whispered, as the reverberation of Chopin's mazurka faded, "that was incredible." Her hand came to rest on his thigh. "I don't even know what to say. You've left me speechless." Her eyes glistened with unreleased tears. "I'm so honored that you shared that with me. Thank you. I know that wasn't easy for you."

"You really are my muse, you know that? I can't remember the last time playing felt like this."

"I certainly hope that's a good thing," she chuckled.

"You make everything good," he assured her, his voice soft with affection. "Actually, good would be the very definition of an understatement."

"Thank you for saying so, Castle. I feel the same way. Well, about you, I mean, not about me."

"Appreciate the clarification, Detective," he wisecracked.

"So, I guess have a bit of a confession to make," she announced without provocation, shifting her body sideways to face him. "Remember when we were taking care of Royal a few months back? Our furry, four-legged friend?"

"Ah, yes, our canine custody contract. I kinda miss him. And he really did like me best, ya know."

Kate rolled her eyes at his continually frustrating ability to redirect any conversation back to himself and just how fabulous he was – _thought_ he was.

"I'm sure that had nothing to do with all of the steak you fed him. Nothing at all, Castle," she grumbled judgmentally. "Now, as I was saying before your ego butted in, though I'm not entirely certain you deserve to hear this anymore-"

"After what I just did for you?" he protested incredulously. "Oh, I've earned that and more, Detective."

"Mmhmm," she replied dismissively. "_Anyway_, that night you brought Royal over to my place and grabbed my hand for that so-called canine head rub demonstration…well, not that I disliked them before, but let's just say that night I developed a particular fondness for your hands."

A blush crept across her cheeks, his mind obviously racing given the slack-jawed look on his face. "But tonight…" she gripped his wrist, her index finger tracing the lines of his palm as she continued, "tonight I developed a love for your hands, Castle. Honestly, what you just did was magical."

He used his free hand, drew her chin upward, and without hesitation leaned in to kiss her lips gently. Though caught somewhat by surprise, Kate's mouth moved intently and surely with his, as though she'd been entirely prepared for his every move.

When their lips finally broke apart, they remained still, forehead to forehead, accelerated breaths mingling between, relief and wonder swirling all around them.

"An encore then?" he asked hopefully.

"_Definitely_ an encore," she answered at once. "Most definitely."


End file.
